He cupped her hand in his. It didn’t even bother him she was touching his scars. She accepted him exactly as he was. “I’ll always take care of you, honey.”
“I know you will. Pull over a second.”
Digger turned the rental car into a lot and put it into park. Demma unhooked her seatbelt and motioned for him to push his seat back. When he complied, she slid into his lap and laid her head on his shoulder. Tenderly, she kissed the marred side of his face. “I think you are the bravest man I know.”
He snorted. “Not even close. I did what I had to do.” He curled his arms around her protectively. Dropping a kiss on her head and inhaled her scent and smiled. Ever since he told her he loved the perfume he discovered on her dressing table, she had worn nothing else.
Digger shivered when Demma slipped her hand under his shirt and caressed the hard planes of his chest. He felt the stirrings of desire flare to life. Gently, he placed a hand on hers. “You little vixen. I told you, we have to wait until the hotel tonight. I’m not going to take you in a parking lot in broad daylight.” He lifted her chin and saw the heat swimming in her brown depths. He always loved it when she didn’t wear the contacts or a wig. She was most beautiful when she was just his Demma.
“Spoilsport,” she groused and pouted prettily.
He laughed and dropped a kiss on her nose before taking her lips in his again. He knew to keep it short, or they would end up in the backseat of the car. With a groan, he nudged her up and back into her seat. “Enough fooling around. You are going to do this, so let’s go.”
Demma exhaled and nodded. “Alright.”
“Good girl.”
***
Demma got out of the car and stood, staring at the ranch style home with trepidation. She felt Ryker’s hand as he grasped hers tightly. She could do this. She would do it.
“Alright, honey?”
She looked up at him and smiled sadly. “Yeah. I just hope everything will work out.”
“It will.”
She hesitated. “Ryker?”
“Yeah, honey?”
“I just wanted to tell you… I love you.”
He stopped and blinked before a huge grin stretched across his face. “You do?”
Demma nodded. “I do. I love you, and I wanted to tell you before we face whatever happens here.”
He cupped her face in his palm and took her mouth in a gentle kiss. When they had finished, he gazed down into her face with such emotion it stole her breath.
“Good thing, because I love you, too.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, honey. You slipped in under my radar and ensnared me in your trap. I think it started the first day and grew stronger every one since.” He kissed her again. “You’ve become my world, Beatrice Greenwood/Demma St. John. I don’t think I could live without you anymore and I don’t want to try.”
She giggled. “Good, because you’re moving in with me when we get back to California.”
He drew back. “Oh, I am, am I?”
“Mmmmhm. I’m not living apart from you anymore, and frankly, your apartment is too small. My closet is bigger than your bedroom. Besides, you’ve halfway moved in already since I started the remodel to make things more secure. The panic room isn’t even started.”
“Don’t remind me.” He let out a groan. “I guess I’ll be moving then.”
She smiled warmly and rose on her toes to kiss him again. “Thank you for being sensible.”
“You say that now. Wait until you see the man cave I make out of one of your empty bedrooms.”
“Our bedrooms.”
He nodded and drew her against him. “Ours. I like the sound of that.” Digger released her and faced the house. “Alright, are you ready to go?” When she nodded, he tugged her toward the dwelling.
Together they climbed the steps to the porch. Drawing in a deep breath, Demma let it go slowly before pushing the doorbell.
“Just a minute,” a man called out.
The lock clicked, and the door opened. Demma blinked as her father stood in the doorway with confusion on his face.
“Ms. St. John? Excuse me. Please, won’t you come in?”
Demma shook her head. “Not before I tell you the truth. Once you hear it, you may not want to see me again.”
Charles Greenwood wrinkled his brow. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
Demma dug into her purse and pulled out the little photo album that she kept in her bedroom. Holding it out, she waited as he looked at it and then at her. Taking it in his hands, he ran his fingers over the worn cover, embossed with Beatrice Greenwood in the corner with silver letters.
“How did you get Bea’s album?”
“I managed to hide a couple of things in a storage locker - a couple of quilts and that.” Her eyes stayed on the book as she continued. “You gave it to me on my twelfth birthday,” she whispered. “It was wrapped in shiny pink and purple paper with a big pink bow. I didn’t want to open it and mess up the paper, but Momma teased me into finally doing it. I was so excited to have it that I went through roll after roll of film until for Christmas that year...”
“...we got you your own thirty-five-millimeter camera.”
The book hit the porch as her father grabbed her in his arms and hugged tightly. “Bea. My beautiful, sweet, little bumble bee. Thank you, Jesus. Thank you. You’ve brought my baby home to us.”
Tears filled her eyes as she felt her father’s arms for the first time in years. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m sorry for everything you went through. I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. I’m so sorry for letting you think I was dead. I had to. The Cobras would have killed you, Momma, Allie, Grampy... everyone in the family if they knew I was still alive.”
“Shhh. It’s alright, Bea.”
“But Zach,” she sobbed. “I killed him. He followed me, and because of it, he died.”
“No, he made a choice. That was on him, not you.” Charlie finally let her go but held her hand tightly. Looking over her head, he asked, “Who is your friend?”
She glanced behind her and saw Ryker had her photo album in his hands, watching them. “Daddy, this is Ryker. He saved my life a couple of months ago. He’s my...” She hesitated not sure what to call him.
“I’m her boyfriend,” Ryker told him. “Hopefully, more soon.” He winked at Demma making her blush.
Her father shook Ryker’s hand and pulled him in for a hug. “Pleased to meet you.” Letting him go he turned toward the open door. “Come inside. Your mother is in the kitchen with Allie.”
Demma reached back and took Ryker’s hand. He had been right. He had told her that her family would understand. She knew she had a long way to go to regain their trust, but she could do it. Today was the first step in taking back her life. Several years ago, she had started down a path which had shredded her family. Today, she was putting it back together. She knew she could never do anything to bring Zach back, but she hoped that she could at least help ease a little of the pain they were feeling. She hoped that he was up there, looking down at her and smiling to see her making the right choices now.
“Mona, come in the living room. We have a very special visitor,” her father called out to her mother.
Ryker’s heat warmed her back, and she relaxed marginally. It had taken her years to face her demons and return home finally. And it was all because of him. Ryker had given her the strength to be here today. She smiled. Thank God she had made that decision to hire Starpower, Inc. They hadn’t just protected her career and her life; they had given her hope and a future. They had given her Ryker, and for that, she would be eternally grateful.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Melissa was born in Tupelo, Mississippi and raised in Houlka, a small rural town forty-five minutes southwest down the famous Natchez Trace. She found a love of reading very early and quickly devoured everything she could. In the fourth grade she discovered a multitude of worlds when she received her first library card. Told repeatedly that she ha
d a wonderful imagination, she turned to scribbling her musings and wrote her first novel while in college. It was never published and has since vanished. The death of a close friend who aspired to become an author reawaked her own desire resulting in penning her first book, Shattered Dreams, published in 2013. Melissa now resides in Meridian, Mississippi with her supportive family – husband, Robert and daughter Rebecca, two cats, and two dogs. When she isn’t writing, she spends way too much time with her online friends and feeding her ravenous appetite for the written word.
Website: https://melissakayclarke.wordpress.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Melissakayclarke/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/MelissaKayClark
Instagram: @mkclarke
Blog: https://melissakayclarke.wordpress.com/
His Royal Typeface
Stephanie Keyes
Other Books by Stephanie Keyes
A STAR CHILD NOVEL
The Star Child
The Fallen Stars
The Star Catcher
A Faerie Wedding
Into Faerie
After Faerie
The Last Protector
**
Blood in the Shadows
Moonbeams and Magic
His Royal Typeface
Copyright © 2017 Stephanie Keyes
All rights reserved.
Crown Image, Courtesy of Vecteezy
DEDICATION
For Gwen, may you rescue your own prince one day.
CHAPTER ONE
Asher
Asher Tarrington stared out over the balcony as his latest lover was chauffeured from the Winter Palace in the family’s black limousine. Last night’s companion had been blonde, voluptuous, and willing. Their night together very well might inspire his fantasies for the rest of his lifetime.
The only problem, Ash reflected as the car moved beyond the gates and down the winding mountain road, was that he couldn’t remember her name.
Since his parents’ deaths a month before, he’d responded to his grief the way any single, rich man in his twenties might. He chose to have a string of affairs with all sorts of women—those both at or beneath his station. He’d made a point of varying everything about them, from their nationality to their skin color.
But they never stayed with him more than a single night. He treated them extremely well—they were people, not playthings, after all—and any one of them would probably have had an interest in becoming a permanent part of his life.
Yet, Ash didn’t feel anything for them other than a fond affection.
He wanted to. He just couldn’t feel anything. Not joy, sadness, fear, hate . . . Lust seemed to be the only exception to his emotional drought. Yet, even that temptation had waned lately. He couldn’t help wanting more.
Despite the revolving door to his bedchamber, being a crown prince was . . . isolating. It seemed as though his life of seclusion would become his new normal.
If one had to be trapped, Ash supposed he couldn’t have asked for a better view. The tall mountains which guarded the Winter Palace of Florico seemed to reach the sky, their peaks pierced the clouds. In the distance, the glorious coastline faded gently into the pale blue Adriatic Sea. Florico’s landscape was as vast and diverse as its people.
And one day, he would be its king.
Admittedly, the tiny Mediterranean country fell under Parliament’s rule, not his family’s. Yet, he would ascend to the throne after his grandmother, Queen Vanessa, either stepped down or passed on. Ash didn’t like to think about the latter, because, as of last month, he’d moved up in the ranks of succession. He was closer to becoming king than ever before.
A car pulled to a stop outside the Winter Palace. A moment later, a passenger exited, wearing a powdered wig. Someone from Parliament, though Ash couldn’t tell who.
A knock sounded at his door, and he abandoned his half-assed spying. “Come in.”
One of the palace’s many butlers pushed the door open a crack. Ash had often thought of them as a group of penguins, lying in wait. “I beg your pardon, Your Highness. The Queen wishes to see you at once.”
“Bloody hell,” he muttered. Not only would this meeting require getting dressed, but he’d also be expected to stay awake. “Get me some coffee, please.”
Ten minutes later, Ash entered the gardens, coffee mug in hand, to discover his eighty-five-year-old grandmother, a.k.a. Queen Vanessa, facedown, her bottom in the air. Her yoga instructor was in the process of checking the queen’s posture.
Ash would never view Downward-Facing Dog the same way again.
“Grandmother, was it really so important for me to attend your morning lesson?” He didn’t bother to keep the dry tone from his voice. He was more than a bit annoyed. She had a different lesson every day, it seemed. Origami, painting, creative writing, skydiving…. She’d hired instructors for everything as though his parents were still alive and the last month had never happened at all.
Yet, when she righted herself, her eyes were red-rimmed, her face wearier than he’d ever seen it. At least, since his grandfather’s death.
“That will be all.” The queen gestured to the instructor, who quickly rolled up her yoga mat and departed. Once they were alone, Grandmother’s hawk-like eyes zeroed in on Asher, but they weren’t hunting him. They were trying to see through him.
He didn’t blame her. He’d grown fairly good at hiding his true self—one of the reasons the media viewed him only as a careless playboy.
The difference was, when she couldn’t tell what he was thinking, Grandmother simply demanded he tell the truth. Apparently, it was good to be the queen.
“How are you, Asher, darling?” She patted his cheek. That was as touchy-feely as his family got. A pat on the cheek or the head, but it meant more that way.
“How are you?” he asked, deflecting the question the way she’d taught him.
The queen dismissed him with a wave. “I’m crap, as anyone might expect. My wonderful son is dead, and so is my equally wonderful daughter-in-law. All because some terrorist decided to crash a party they’d attended on a whim.”
“That makes it worse somehow, doesn’t it? As if their deaths don’t mean as much.” Asher didn’t mind opening up since Grandmother had laid out her status.
“Yes, it does.” She frowned, guiding him to one of the tables where an invisible servant had laid out tea. At least, that’s how Ash had always thought of them, since he rarely caught sight of anyone doing anything. Penguins aside. “I called you here because the Keeper of the Privy Purse requested an audience as soon as possible. I thought, given your father’s absence . . .”
“That I should be here. Of course you did.” All traces of annoyance toward his grandmother faded.
“Your Majesty,” one of the penguins announced from the doorway. “The Keeper of the Privy Purse.”
He stepped aside to allow the tall man in the powdered wig entrance. The gentleman bowed briefly before tugging at his shirt collar. “Please forgive the early hour, Your Majesty, Your Highness. If I could have a moment of your time?”
“Very well, Walter,” the queen said, gesturing to a chair at the table. “Take a seat.”
Walter did as she suggested, resting an iPad on the table’s metal top. “Thank goodness. I’ve been up half the night reviewing Prince Asher’s parents’ holdings.”
“You honestly had nothing better to do on a Saturday night than review my parents’ accounts?” Ash joked.
He realized his mistake at once. Walter wasn’t used to that sort of interaction from a member of the family. He had no idea how to respond. Grandmother cleared her throat and nudged Ash in the ribs.
“My apologies,” Ash said, regrouping. “A poorly timed joke at so early an hour.”
Lord. How long would this meeting last? He only hoped he’d be able to stay awake for the duration.
“Oh, a joke! Good one, sir!” Walter laughed, but the purpose of their visit must have trickled back into his
mind, for his smile faded.
“Walter, please. It’s early. Why did you call this meeting?” Grandmother asked.
“I see, ma’am . . . well . . . as to the purpose . . .the Crown Estate has been jeopardized.”
Ash vaguely remembered overhearing his father saying something about the Crown Estate being the royal family’s accumulated property holdings. Since Ash had never needed to know, he’d never paid much attention. It seemed foolish now.
“What do you mean, jeopardized? By whom?” asked Grandmother.
The older man offered the queen the iPad, which displayed a spreadsheet with a startling amount of red on it. Walter’s bushy white eyebrows aimed downward as he considered his next words. “It’s gone, ma’am. All of it.”
Grandmother froze in her chair, her back ramrod straight. “I beg your pardon,” she said.
Ash must have heard Walter wrong. When Grandmother remained silent, he spoke. “I’m sorry. I’m not following.”
“Let me see if I can explain this, delicately.” Walter cleared his throat, as though he were working up to a pronouncement. “Your mother had a love of cards, shall we say”—he glanced about the gardens before leaning forward—“at the gambling tables.”
Those last four words in combination had the effect of sobering Ash in a way no cup of coffee could. “Wait a minute. Are you telling me Mother gambled away all of our estates?”
“Not just Princess Rania. Prince Vicktor . . . helped.” Walter seemed even more uncomfortable than when he’d arrived.
“You can’t be serious. I knew Rania gambled, but she played to win and she did.” Grandmother seemed offended by the mere mention of her daughter-in-law losing at anything.
Can't Buy Me Love Page 38
